Fevered
by Vyctori
Summary: Kent x Sain. Sometimes, relationships don't go in the desired direction. Sometimes, it's difficult to get things on track. And sometimes, a catalyst is needed....


A/N: Hello, all! Here I am with a personal first—a shounen ai one-shot. I wrote it for a fic trade that I'm doing with Atarashii (go read her stories; they're lovely!), and I got to choose the genre, which is a bizarre mix of angst, romance, and slight touches of humour. 0o; Anyway, if anyone who's reading this is squeamish about male/male relationships, I recommend clicking on that "Back" button about now . . . it's nothing detailed (sorry, yaoi fans!), but . . . yeah.

The beginning of the fic is taken from Fiora and Sain's B support conversation (extremely amusing if I say so myself), but the rest is my very fertile imagination. I'd appreciate reviews for this, because I'd like constructive crit for the next time. And, as always, I do not own _Rekka no Ken_, except for one small cartridge of which I am very proud. --happy--

Enjoy!

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Listening carefully for the tactician's orders, I thrust forward with my lance. The mercenary in front of me tumbled to the ground, life bleeding quickly away. It seemed he was among the last to fall. Apparently, the only one left was the leader, and I had every confidence that whomever the tactician chose would finish him most speedily.

"Nice job, there, Kent!" the tactician called out before jogging up to consult with a few other members of our group.

"Thank you," I replied calmly, and dismounted to look after my horse.

As I rubbed it down, I mused, as I did after every battle, how fortunate our group was to have such a competent strategist as a leader. We had yet to lose a single person attached to Eliwood's mercenaries, and after two campaigns and several months under the tactician's command, I was most grateful indeed.

A shout drew my attention upward. Against the afternoon sun, I could make out the outline of one of the pegasus knights. Pressing an arm against my forehead, I could just barely tell that it was Fiora. Dangling across her mount was a long, unmoving shape.

Who is it? I wondered, squinting in an attempt to discover the answer. Are they even alive . . . ?

Fiora urged her pegasus to change direction in midair in order to land more firmly. Without the sun's glare, I could see green armour and a tousle-haired head.

My heart and breathing seemed to stop simultaneously. No. . . . It can't be. It—

I broke into a frantic run, long legs swiftly carrying me the distance to Fiora, and Sain, who had yet to even stir. I nearly stumbled at one point, but managed to regain my balance and keep going.

"He's not . . . is he . . . ?" I gasped for breath. It wasn't from the run, but the incredible panic that was beginning to set in.

Fiora looked grim. "He's alive, but who knows for how long. Help me get him off."

Between the two of us, we gently lifted Sain off the pegasus and onto the grass. Almost without thinking, I swung my pack off my back and manoeuvred the contents within the bag so the harder items fell to the back. Then I lifted Sain's head from the ground and slid the bag beneath. As I did, my hand brushed his forehead.

"He's burning," I murmured in surprise. My breathing slowed, but only somewhat. Although Sain did not have a fatal wound, it appeared he was in almost as much danger.

"Yes. He was flirting with me as usual, going on about protecting me, when he just collapsed." Fiora shook her head. "It didn't take him long to slip into delusions. I brought him as fast as I could get away."

"Stubborn fool. If only he had seen a healer sooner. . . ." My reproach lacked its usual frustration; even I could tell.

Sain was in serious trouble, I realised. While Serra and Priscilla were adept at curing even the most deadly battle wounds, illness was another matter. Because it was slow and debilitating, it was difficult for the healing to take. If Sain had gone to one of them at the onset of his sickness, he would have been just fine. But because of his obstinacy . . . who knew what could happen? I shivered.

Soft footsteps broke my concentration. I looked up to see Lady Lyndis approaching.

"What's going on?" she inquired, coming to a halt nearby and studying Sain's flushed face. "Fiora, did you smack him a little too hard for flirting with you again?"

Fiora didn't even smile. "No. Sain has a fever."

Lady Lyndis' mouth fell open slightly. "Oh no! I'll go get Priscilla—wait right here." She ran off, feet skimming lightly across the ground.

"Fiora, you go ahead," I found myself saying. "There's no need for two of us to wait here."

"Well . . . all right." She nodded, aqua hair swinging slightly. "I'll see you later on, I suppose."

"Aye." I nodded, then dropped to my knees at Sain's side as she mounted her pegasus and flew off. He still hadn't moved, though as I watched, a sigh left his lips.

Sain, I thought. What am I going to do . . . ?

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"Mend," Priscilla whispered. Light from the staff she gripped in her hand surrounded her and cast long shadows in the tactician's tent to which Sain had been taken. The glow transferred itself to the fallen cavalier, but little seemed to happen.

"Mend." She tried again, but no light came this time. She bit her lip. "It's broken. And that's our last one."

"What? How can it be?" the tactician exclaimed, cursing. "I had sent someone out to get fresh staves only last week!"

"It was Sain, remember?" Lucius, who had also used the last of his Heal staff on Sain, reminded the tactician. "Except he became distracted and started to, um. . . ."

"Pester Rebecca," I finished bleakly. "And then he didn't tell anyone that he had forgotten until we were leagues past the nearest shop. That. . . ." I couldn't come up with any words to describe Sain.

The tactician looked solemn. "Well, at least there's a shop in the next town, from what I hear. We can make it in a day, but it's too late to travel any further. He'll be fine, right?"

"I hope so." Priscilla didn't sound convinced.

"It's all in the hands of Saint Elimine now." Lucius bowed his head slightly, then left the tent, Priscilla and the tactician following.

"Kent, are you coming?" Priscilla asked, pausing at the door.

I shook my head. "I'd rather stay with him, just in case . . . there are any changes. For good, or for. . . ." I let my sentence trail off.

Priscilla's worried face softened slightly. "I understand. You're his best friend, so of course you wouldn't want to leave him. Well, call one of us in case something happens. We may not be able to do much, but it's better than nothing, I suppose." She exited, letting the tent flap fall silently as she left.

Best friend. . . . Something that was more of a grimace than a smile crossed my face and left it. That's all I'd ever be to Sain.

I watched his chest rise and fall shallowly for a moment. Our friends in the camp probably already had the rest of my life and Sain's plotted out. I'd settle down and marry some woman like Lady Lyndis or Fiora, and Sain would go on flirting forever.

I laughed shortly, softly. And that's likely how things will turn out, when all's said and done. I wouldn't want to burden Sain with the fact that good ol' Kent, his best pal who he could always rely on to drag him out of his various scrapes and scold him afterwards, wanted a relationship that was different than the existing one.

My glance fell to his messy green-brown curls, which were stuck damply to his forehead from fever sweat. I couldn't help smiling lightly. Sain always insisted they were "artfully disarrayed," and said it made the women go wild over him. I maintained that it was sheer laziness, and that he just didn't want to bother to comb his hair every morning. Sain in return complained that my hairstyle was dead boring, and that I'd never attract any "lovely ladies" unless I did something a little more interesting with my hair.

Another bitter smile stretched my lips. Little did he know that I wasn't interested in attracting women, and nor would I ever be. Not when the one I loved was right in front of me and yet out of my grasp.

Sighing, I reached over and brushed Sain's hair from his forehead. Was it my imagination, or did his forehead feel cooler? . . . No, I decided. I just want it to be so.

I waited at his side for a while longer, then stretched my arms. I was doing nothing productive here. Sain would wake up, or he wouldn't, and my presence wouldn't change a thing. I was shirking my duty to the others.

I still don't know what made me do it. But before I left, I bent down and gently, tenderly kissed Sain's too warm forehead, closing my eyes and wishing. . . .

"Kent . . . ?" It was barely a fragment of a whisper, but it was spoken nearly in my ear.

I jerked back. Gazing up at me with a wide green gaze was Sain. The fever's gleam seemed to be absent from his eyes, and I realised he had been awake when I had kissed him.

"Kent, you. . . ."

Never had I exited a place so fast in my entire life. I strode out of the tent, my cheeks brilliant red, and headed off in search of something, _anything_ to do, to take my mind off the fact that I had ruined the best friendship I had ever had, and would ever have.

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It was about four days later. The morning after Sain had finally woken up, our group had ridden for the town, where the tactician sent reliable Heath for the Heal and Mend staves we so desperately needed. It didn't take more than a day's rest and curing for Sain to be free of the disease, and another day for him to be back on the fighting list. He was resilient, both of body and spirit—he had to be, after being rejected countless times by the numerous women he had courted.

And where was I during this time? As far away as possible. I knew it wasn't long before the group would remark upon my unusual absence from Sain's side, but I wasn't ready to face him . . . not yet.

And so I had requested the one duty that would take me as far from the rest of the troupe as possible: collecting tonight's firewood.

I picked my way through the undergrowth, trying resolutely to concentrate only on the task at hand. It wasn't working. Over and over, my brain stubbornly forced me to rewatch my stupidity. I repeatedly saw myself kiss Sain's forehead, heard him murmur. . . .

"Kent . . . ?"

I whirled at the sound of the voice coming from behind me. There stood Sain, looking, for the first time in all the years that I had known him, faintly embarrassed.

"Ah . . . Sain. What are you doing here?" Inwardly, I winced at the inane question.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Finding you. I wanted to—talk."

I looked down at the deadwood I held in my arms. "All right."

I set down my load and slowly walked over to where Sain was sitting on a storm-downed tree and seeming surprisingly unsure of himself. I seated myself next to him, making sure there was a reasonable space between the two of us.

For a while, all we did was stare straight ahead. Neither of us looked at one another, and we remained silent until Sain finally spoke.

"Kent . . . about four days ago. . . ." he began.

I could feel myself reddening at the memory. "Um, that was just a fever-testing method my mother taught me. I, uh, wanted to be sure you weren't getting worse."

"I see." Sain's voice was quiet, thoughtful. "You're sure?"

" . . . Yes." I closed my eyes briefly.

They opened in shock when I heard movement and felt a warm body lean against mine.

"Positive?" Sain asked with a glint of mischief in his eyes and his usual half-cocky smile.

I swallowed—hard. "Sain? What are you . . . ?"

"What do you think?" he replied, smile widening.

"But . . . all that flirting, those women. . . ." I was horribly confused and at a loss for words.

Sain's smile became crooked. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who's noticed how people treat men like me—and you."

I didn't even try to deny his words. "So, all this time . . . ?"

"Yes, you idiot. Now stop talking; is there anything else that really needs to be said?"

Not at all, I thought, and leaned down very slightly and kissed him. For a moment, I felt as though I was the one who was fevered, but then I ceased to think at all.

It was a very long moment before the two of us separated. When we eventually did, Sain leaned his head against my shoulder blissfully and let out a small sigh of complete contentment.

I, on the other hand, was still thinking. "Sain, are we going to let the others know?"

"Eventually," he answered, sounding very satisfied. "I'm sure they'll accept our relationship, given time. Until then, I suppose I might as well continue to flirt with those lovely ladies—it's so much fun!"

"I had better go find that firewood." I dislodged Sain, stood, and walked over to my long abandoned pile.

Sain followed me, moving so he was in my line of vision. "What's this? Are we jealous?" His eyes sparkled wickedly.

I turned my head away. "Not at all."

"If you'd like, I could flirt with you from time to time, oh handsome cavalier of delight!" he offered almost gleefully.

I couldn't help smiling. "Maybe not. Now let's get back to camp before they miss us, all right?"

Sain slipped an arm around my waist, carrying not a stick of firewood and being not at all remorseful about it. "As you say, partner. Onward! Our fellow mercenaries await!"


End file.
